This is just a quick little fic that I thought up to go with a title that my friend gave me. Actually, she wrote it in a note with "If you don't write a fic with this name I'll cover your bed with jell-o" written underneath it. So, seeing as I prefer pudding to jell-o, this little fic came about. Please review if you read, even if you didn't like it!

.o.O. Maraudette .o.O.o.


Not Quite Important Enough for Pants

Ouch.

Ouch.

What the fuck is smacking me in the face? Ouch! Bloody hell!

"What's going on?" I growl, pulling a pillow over my head. Only it comes out very high-pitched and slurred, so it's really more like a three-year-old saying "Wot gin oh?"

Very manly, if I do say so myself.

"Sirius, wake up! Come on, I have to tell you something! Come on, mate!"

James. I swear to Merlin, God and all the pie that's ever been eaten that he is not going to live long if he doesn't lay off it.

"James. It's–" I look out from under the safety of my pillow – "one o' clock in the morning. I'm beat. We have Transfiguration in the morning. D'you know what all this means?"

James is silent, but smacks my head again.

"It means get the fuck away from me!" I swat in his general direction. "Go bother Peter or something!"

"Actually, I'm already awake, Sirius."

I grunt. "Good for you, Pete. Now will you please take James away? Preferably to the bottom of the lake?"

"You're really going to want to get up, mate. I'm serious," James's voice says. I never really noticed how annoying his voice is. Till now.

"No, I am."

"That joke got old first year. Don't you want to see what your –" he mumbles something very quiet here – "is?"

"My what?"

"Your animagus!" Peter hisses, punching my leg. Ouch.

I groan and pull the pillow off my face very slowly. "This is interesting and all, mates, and I know you're excited, but couldn't this wait until some sort of semi-godly hour?" I run my hand through my hair.

"No. McGonnagall would see us," James says. "Get up. We have to try it out."

"I'm not being any sort of test dummy for you, you git!" I say, propping myself up on my elbows. "It's Peter or nothing."

"Hey!"

"Shut up, Pete."

"Fine. Peter will go," James says. "Any other demands?"

"I want to sleep until ten, and then we do this shit."

"Too bad. We have coffee. Get up."

I don't think any other word other than 'coffee' could have possibly lured me out of the warmth and coziness of my four-poster. As it is, I drag my ass out of bed, carrying a quilt wrapped around my shoulders.

"Ditch the quilt, Sirius," Peter sighs, handing me a cup. Black. My favorite.

"Shut up, Pete," I say again, taking a sip. "Where's Remus?"

"Remus isn't taking the potion," James says. "And I'm quite scared of waking him up."

"That's great. I get to go out on the grounds at one o' clock in the bloody morning, take a potentially lethal potion, and run around in the freezing cold, while my best mate sleeps like a baby. That's just bloody great."

"Sirius, sarcasm really is bad for you, you know," James says happily, taking his invisibility cloak out and wrapping it around him and Pete. "If you're taking that quilt you're going visible."

I just stumble toward the door and down the stairs. I can hear them chuckling behind me.

I make a beeline for the portrait hole. I'll be damned if I stretch this out any longer than it needs to be. I stumble down to the first floor and out the door without any mishaps, my two so-called friends behind me. That's great. I'm Peeves's only target if he catches us.

"I hate you guys," I hiss, taking a sip of coffee. They just laugh. Buggers.

We eventually make our way towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where I collapse in a heap of quilt beneath a tree with my cup. "Let's hurry it up here, mates," I say, and sure enough, James and Peter come into sight immediately, James tossing the cloak my way.

"All right, little miss PMS," Peter says. I throw a rock at his head. He ducks. Damn.

James digs around in his pocket for a second, completely ignoring us, and comes up with a set of three vials. One is labeled P, one J, and one S. "It's almost ready," he says.

"You dragged me out here when the fucking potion isn't even ready yet?"

"It's ready, Sirius! You just have to breathe on it before you take it is all. Something about your true animal essence or whatever. The book says it's real important. Peter? Ready?"

Pete nods and shrugs his nightshirt off to make sure it doesn't rip. James and I have bets about what thing he'll be when he changes. James said moose. I said cow.

Peter takes the potion and uncorks it. Steam comes off. At least it's warm. He takes a deep breath, blows on it, then downs the shot in one.

He stands there looking quite stupid for a second with a look on his face like he's just eaten thirty vomit-flavored Bertie's beans. James and I glance at each other. "Pete? You feel anything?" James says.

Before Peter can answer we see that he does. It's obvious. He must. There's dark, furry hair sprouting all over his face, and his eyes are getting smaller. His nose is much pointer now – and he's shrinking – his pants fall to the ground – he's gone.

"James, what'd you do? Peter's gone!" I say, taking another sip of coffee. I have a feeling I'd be much more concerned if it was afternoon.

James shakes his head and laughs. Cold-hearted bastard. "No. He's right there!"

A rat scuttles out from Peter's pants.

...I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say about that.

The rat squeaks happily and runs about a bit. James laughs. I yawn. "So we both lost the bet. Change back, Pete. We'd better hurry up," I say. "I'm about to pass out."

James tells the rat to stop moving, then tells it to imagine being human again. Seems rather simple to me. Stupid, really.

A few seconds later, Pete's standing there, miraculously in his pants again, although without a shirt on. It makes my stomach hurt a bit.

"James, you next," I say, pulling my quilt further around me. It's fucking cold. Why are we doing this in March? At least there's no snow. Thank Merlin.

I might as well not even have said anything, because James's already done with his potion. He grins and tosses his specs towards me. They hit a rock.

He's about to call me some really bad names for not catching them, but he can't, seeing as how his head isn't human anymore. It's all furry and long the eyes are very large and hazel-y. The antlers are pretty impressive, too.

"A stag. Nice, James," Peter says, putting his hands in his pockets. I sneak a glance at him. He has his shirt back on. Good.

"Yeah, mate. Not bad." I'm done with watching him, though, because all he's doing is galloping about and throwing his antlers around and looking all self-satisfied. I blow on my potion and down it before he sees.

Eurgh. It doesn't sit well with the coffee. Tastes rather nasty, really.

My hands feel odd. I look down at them, but they're not hands anymore. They have weird callouses on them, and claws, and I never thought my knuckles were that hairy.

I reach up to feel my face. My tongue lolls out. Yep. I'm a dog.

I stand up on all fours and look about. Peter's next to me. Judging by how he stands, a very large dog. Sweet.

James is still preening and prancing like a pretty boy, but his back is turned. Now's my chance.

I stalk forward on my paws – it's strange to have paws – and sneak up behind him. He throws his head up, and I jump –

James freaks out as I land on his back and we tumble sideways. He's braying and I'm chuckling – or maybe barking – I'm not quite sure. But it's very amusing to me.

When we finally stop moving, I do as James told Peter and think of human form, and suddenly I'm bipedal again. I walk over towards my quilt, take my coffee, and walk away from the stupid deer that's still laying down like he can't figure out what happened.

"Good evening, Peter," I say, heading back up to the castle.

.o.O.o.

About fifteen minutes later, after convincing the Fat Lady to wake up and let me in, I'm finally making my way across the common room. I can practically feel the sheets on my four-poster. My whole body aches. I just want to sleep.

"Sirius?"

Damn.

I sigh and turn around to see Lily sitting there, curled up like a cat in her favorite armchair and holding a cup of tea. "What're you doing up?" I ask her tiredly, running a hand through my hair.

"I couldn't sleep." She gestures toward me, standing in only my boxers and undershirt, holding a quilt and a half cup of coffee. "Where were you?"

I yawn. "Obviously nowhere important enough for pants," I say, and stumble up to the boys' dormitory, listening to the chuckles of my invisible mates behind me.